


Gridlocked

by Itsallfine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Driving, Ficlet, Gen or Pre-Slash, GridLOCK DC, Humor, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Washington D.C.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsallfine/pseuds/Itsallfine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are trapped in Washington, DC traffic. In July. In a manual transmission car. There may be a murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gridlocked

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for and printed in the Gridlock DC 2015 zine. Now that the con is over (*sniffle, sob*), I thought I'd archive it here. Thanks to the con staff for such a great weekend!
> 
> Many thanks to 57circlesofhell, former DC-area resident, for the swift beta job. It's been years since I lived in the area myself, but memories of the traffic still make my blood boil.
> 
> Fic updates and general nonsense available on tumblr: [Librarylock](http://librarylock.tumblr.com).

Driving the DC beltway was an exercise in hellish daredevilry at the best of times. At 5 p.m. on a Friday in July, I-95 was a convenience store warming shelf lined with unmoving boxes of sweltering meat.  
  
John and Sherlock’s rented car had moved less than a mile in the past hour, and Sherlock, his dark curls matted with perspiration, was in rare form.  
  
“Perhaps these _cattle_ actually have gotten one thing correct,” he spat, depressing the clutch and shifting into first gear, only to slide right back to neutral and brake again barely a second later. “These lazy sods with their automatic transmissions may actually have an advantage.”  
  
“You think anyone’s been murdered yet?” John asked, his arm out the passenger-side window to catch every faint whiff of breeze.  
  
“You mean the case we’re on? Unlikely, though I predict there will be two bodies waiting for us by the time we make it to our exit. On this bloody road, though? It’s entirely possible there’ve been several murders within ten car lengths of us.”  
  
An obnoxiously red Audi chose that moment to drive up the shoulder of the road, past the line of stalled traffic, tires bumping over the grass of its invented lane. Sherlock pointed.  
  
“And _that_ utter _cock_ will likely be my own first victim. You should call Sally right now and put money on my descent into murderous psychopathy. I’d hate for her to have all the bragging rights.”  
  
Clutch, shift, gas, brake, stop.  
  
Clutch, shift, gas, brake, stop.  
  
Once, Sherlock made it into second gear before he had to brake. He nearly wept at the absurd blossom of triumph it inspired.  
  
“John, I don’t know how much more I can take. My ankle is actually starting to hurt from clutching so often.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and gear shift. “Can we get out and walk? Just abandon this horrible car here and strike out on our own? I promise not to conduct experiments in the kitchen for a month. _Two_ months. Please.”  
  
“Oh, for—here, switch,” John said, and pulled the parking brake. He threw one leg over the center console and carefully maneuvered his more sensitive bits around the gearshift as Sherlock squeezed past him, pressed up against his back. He dropped into the driver-side seat just as the traffic in front of him began to creep forward another few inches.  
  
John shifted into first gear and gave the engine one good rev to get the car moving, then shifted immediately back to neutral, letting the car coast on momentum alone for the short distance needed to catch back up. Except he’d miscalculated; the car began to slow with a sizeable gap still between them and the Prius ahead.  
  
Without a word, Sherlock threw himself forward in his seat so hard that the car drifted forward a few extra inches. He did it again, and again, until the car’s momentum had dissipated entirely.  
  
John stared. It wasn’t as if he really needed to keep his eyes on the road.  
  
“Again,” Sherlock snapped without taking his eyes off the car in front of them. John shifted, revved, then went back to neutral. Sherlock threw himself forward over and over, and the car lurched forward with each effort.  
  
_Ah, what the hell,_ John thought.  
  
He joined in. After the next shift, he and Sherlock both lurched forward in their seats, rocking the car forward again and again. A snort, then another, and then they both cracked up, their laughter ebbing in time with their coordinated rocking. A child’s voice drifted over from the open window of another car, a faint _what are they doing, Mommy?_ that only made them laugh harder.  
  
John took his hand off the steering wheel just long enough to wipe the tears from his eyes, meeting Sherlock’s open, relaxed grin with one of his own.  
  
_Sherlock Holmes will live another day without becoming a murderous psychopath,_ John thought. _And thank God for that._  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! [Librarylock](http://librarylock.tumblr.com) on tumblr for photos and memories from Gridlock DC 2015.


End file.
